


They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet

by vertigo



Series: JayTim Week: Valentine’s Day  Edition 2017 [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Why angst for valentines?, we just don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:30:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9713444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vertigo/pseuds/vertigo
Summary: He expects everything from businessmen running with their suitcases over their heads, to respectable ladies in their kitten heels finding shelter in the nearest café and the invisible population of Gotham seeking somewhere at least less drenched to hide until the rain lets up. What he doesn’t expect is to find the young Timothy Drake, still in his (drenched) Brentwood uniform, looking at the sky as if it was mocking him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, first day of Jaytim Valentine's Week and I'm already setting the mood for complete angst. Thank you, as always to my personal fluffer BlueFlameBird <3\. And since I'm without internet at home, I don't know how my posting schedule will be, so sorry in advance :c

Gotham is known for two things mainly: its terrible architecture, which is a mix between slowly decaying gargoyles and skyscrapers reflecting the drops of rain, present even in the summer, where people were supposed to be happy and tanned. But _no_ , torrential summer rains always catch people when they’re leaving their workplace on Fridays, mentally preparing themselves to a nice weekend. Gotham probably adopted the weather from its predecessor in England.

 

But Jason Todd still loves the cold showers that bless the pavement at six pm, he still loves taking Bruce’s car to Gotham U during a cloudy summer day and drive it back after an exhausting day dealing with his peers.

 

He expects everything from businessmen running with their suitcases over their heads, to respectable ladies in their kitten heels finding shelter in the nearest café and the invisible population of Gotham seeking somewhere at least a less drenched to hide until the rain lets up. What he doesn’t expect is to find the young Timothy Drake, still in his (drenched) Brentwood uniform, looking at the sky as if it was mocking him. Jason stops his car, lowering the passenger window and trying to shout above the splattering sound of the downpour. Tim turns his head and shows him his most brilliant smile, sprinting to reach the safety of Jason’s warm car. “You, Mr. Todd, are a life saver!”

 

“I’ve told you Tim, you can call me Jason.” He smiles, ruffling Tim’s wet hair as he shudders from the heated air hitting his wet clothes. “What happened, kid?”

 

“Fencing practice. Lost the school bus. The chauffeur is in Metropolis with mom and dad. Basically? Life hates me. Nothing new.” Jason is laughing, twisting his body to grab the leather jacket on the backseat and offering it to the shivering wet kid.

 

Tim thanks him with a small smile and Jason, the poor future literature graduate, has to advert his eyes and focus on the road instead of drooling over the sight of the younger boy removing his drenched uniform and wrapping himself around the brown leather. He has to mentally smack himself in the head for the sick and sudden urge to stop the car and bend the boy over—he should not be attracted to a sixteen year old whom he casually tutors. He knows he’s been harboring the thoughts on his head like a Nabokov cliché and that should not be happening. He should not notice the little freckles that spread over Tim’s bony shoulders or the way he casually seems happier whenever he’s around, or even the little signs his brain identifies as reciprocate affection.

 

Tim buries himself in his jacket, Tim flushes all the way to the tip of his ears when he speaks in Spanish, Tim _always_ bites his lips when he leans over, correcting a spelling mistake with an attentive eye. Jason hates himself with every fiber of his being whenever an intrusive and borderline obsessive thought about his pupil comes up to his head—he never acted on his desires, even when alone, which led to many unfulfilling nights with his left hand hanging uselessly by his side while he chain-smokes until dawn. He feels like a damn predator in his head and thinks about turning himself to Chris Hansen with a note stitched to his chest  _Fucking sexual predator, shoot me in the head_. “Jason, are you there?” Tim asks with a laugh, snapping himself out of his reverie as Mountain Drive shows up from behind the heavy droplets of rain.

 

“Sorry, kid.” He says, much to Tim’s dismay—the boy used to retort that he’s not a kid, he’s a sixteen year old with an astronomic GPA who helps running the powerful Drake Industries. But Jason _needs_ to say it out loud, he needs to remind himself that, despite his abilities, Tim **is** a kid. And he needs to see Tim as one. “Got lost thinking about my thesis.”

 

The boy giggles, _thatfucking adorable giggle that Tim reserves for him only_ , reaching out for a crumpled pack of Camel that sits idly on the dashboard and picks one of them. Jason has to roll down the window, apologizing for the smoke that comes up when he first inhales the tobacco. “Is Shakespeare giving you too much work?” Tim asks softly, reaching out with a calloused hand to pat the fingers resting on the gear stick. Jason tries not to focus on how warm and soft, despite the rough spots created by his competitive fencing, Tim’s hand is. He tries to focus on the road, seeing the Wayne manor loom over them, or the radio blasting Bon Jovi—anything other than the feeling of _Timothy Drake_.

 

“Fucking bard. I love him, but sometimes I feel like bashing his skull.” Tim laughs once more, closing his hand over Jason’s when the driveway of the much less sumptuous Drake manor appears behind the curtain of water. He smiles brilliantly when the car pulls to a halt in the front porch of his house, the warm hand still placed gently over Jason’s gives a little squeeze. “Remember to do your homework. I’ll see you on Thursday.” He nods and the smile he gives Jason is bright enough to obscure the xenon headlights illuminating the driveway.

 

“Thank you, Jason.”

 

He’s left with the phantom sensation of his warmth and the burning desire to see Tim naked, wrapped around his jacket, sitting on his lap. He hates himself when his mind conjures the image of Timothy riding him, wearing nothing but his jacket, his chest flushed, pink lips bitten to the point of swelling and his pretty open mouth moaning just for him. Jason turns around and drives all the way to nowhere, where Gotham turns into a small dot and he can safely call Roy and sob for fifteen minutes straight, hitting the hood of the car with his closed fist—otherwise he might just hit himself.

 

Talking to Roy eases his guilt—he always assures him that Jason is not a predator, that he would never look at Lian in that way. _It’s just a misplaced crush_ , Roy tells him, Roy praises him for his self-control, Roy tells him that it’s good that he’s talking to someone about it. He always offers him shelter, but Jason doesn’t trust himself near children or teenagers, he’s afraid to find out that his crush is actually a paraphilia and he doesn’t want to deal with that. He doesn’t want to look Bruce in the eye and tell him he has a problem and he needs to be put down like a dog.

 

* * *

 

 

Fridays are his days to get acquainted with a bottle of Tennessee Whiskey on the nearest pub with Roy under his arm (and in his bed) and on Saturday, Jason feels like he’s paying for all his sins when Katy Perry bids him good morning. Roy snorts on his bed, ignoring the beat that rattles his windows and reverberates in his headache—he feels the pulse of the beat in his arteries, almost making him hit his head against the wall. But he ignores the urge and gets downstairs, where Dick is bobbing his head to the song while slicing an apple and Alfred busies himself on the kitchen in order to make whatever he’s baking the most perfect recipe.

 

“Did the apocalypse come earlier?” He asks, but Dick just laughs, almost spilling the apple out of his mouth.

 

“Timmy is growing up!” His brother answers, smiling radiantly. Jason is almost compelled to complain, but bites his tongue when he remembers how he and Dick were. Terrible teenagers with a penchant for parties that would rival any of Bruce’s galas. “His parents left for Zurich so, why not give a party? Hell, if only we were younger, right Jaybird?”

 

Jason wants to throw up, he feels the acidic taste of bile coming up to his mouth, but swallows it. _If only we were younger_ echoes loudly, along with a list of repercussions—he would be able to take Tim out, he would be able to date him, he would be able to do anything he likes to Tim. He just lays his head down on the cool table, welcoming the refreshing embrace of the wood and a steaming cup of coffee that makes his world _a little better_. Jason drags his body upstairs when the coffee runs cold, back to the room where Roy snores loudly.

 

He can’t contain the curiosity that propel his body to cross the distance between the bed and the French windows. The same curiosity that makes him see that Tim is hosting a private party, with only three other attendants.

 

One of them has Tim in his strong arms, with his mouth pressing kisses to the side of the boy’s neck. Jason takes a deep breath and tries to sink his fingers in the glass of the window. He **won’t** allow himself to be jealous at the purple marks on Tim’s chest. He **won’t** let himself fantasize about how good it would feel to be in that boy’s place. Jason watches the clique for a while, before he finds out _where_ the party is heading to: the only girl in the group leans in to kiss Tim, the redhead kid molds himself to Drake’s side, his mouth carving its place on the unmarked side of Tim’s neck.

 

He doesn’t want to attribute the knot in his stomach to jealousy. Jason simply shuts the blinds and turns around, finding his space beside Roy still warm.

  

* * *

 

 

When Thursday rolls around, Jason is not sure if he’s ready to face Tim. The memory of last Sunday is still fresh on his mind and solicits every improper thoughts he ever had with such force that knocks the air out of his lungs.And keeps him awake during the long nights, to a point where there’s a darker shade of black underneath his eyes.

 

He knocks on the door with the courage he doesn’t really possess, ready to face the good old Mrs. Mac and her smile, but finds himself in the worst of the predicaments when Tim is the one who answers it.

 

Tim, who’s still wearing his Brentwood uniform that doesn’t even begin cover the fading purplish trails on his neck.

 

“Mrs. Mac isn’t in,” Tim supplies when Jason looks confused and hesitant to step in. “family emergency. She’ll be back on the weekend.” Jason sucks his own tongue, stepping in and leaving his shoes by the threshold and following Tim into the kitchen. This is literally the worst day of his life, when he has to stare at the barely disguised ring of teeth embedded in his nape, covered in faded foundation and not react on the instinct of bowing down and covering someone else’s mark. “Do you want something, Jason?”

 

“Water.” He asks simply. Because Jason feels like he’s trapped inside a warehouse caught in a fire, handcuffed to a pipe with a maniac ready to bash his brains out. Tim answers his request with a smile and sits down on the high stools of the kitchen, shuffling between papers to find what he’s looking for.

 

“I did the essay you asked me.” Tim is running his fingers through the pages, a little confused-but-adorable crease appearing between his brows. “But I don’t know if I got it right, some of the phrases sound a little confusing.” Jason nods, swallowing the rest of his water and leaving the cup by the sink to occupy the space beside him. Close enough to inhale the soft cologne that clings to Tim like a second skin. He uncaps his red pen and starts reading Tim’s writing—the boy has a terrible handwriting, made it worse by his lack of faith in pens and correction tapes.

 

Jason runs a hand through his hair, exhaling softly and circling the first few words that Tim got wrong— _this is safe_ , he thinks. His grammar has improved for the few months they’ve been having their lessons, but he still struggles with his writing. “See, here…” Jason starts, tapping the tip of his pen on the paper as Tim leans in. “ The correct way to phrase it is _el vasovacío_. In English, our adjectives come before the noun, _the empty vase_. Usually in Spanish is the contrary. And here,” He circles another word, taping it slowly. “you made the same mistake some weeks ago, _realicé_ means execute, you should use _dares cuenta._ _Cuandoél se había ido, ella se diocuenta de que loquería._ Also, _Quedate_ , Tim, means _stay_. _Quédate quieto_.” Tim huffs a laughter, shaking his head. And Jason realizes how adorable the gesture is, how cute are those too long bangs swaying as he blushes for his mistakes.

 

“Spanish is hard, Jason. You make it sound so easy.” Jason leans on his elbows against the marble top, a smile growing slowly in his face. “I mean I can’t even say que—ke—da”

 

“Quédate.” He says easily and Tim just laughs, once again shaking his head in a negative. It’s a matter of getting used to it. I grew up talking in Spanish, that’s why it’s easy for me.” Jason unconsciously places his hand on Tim’s neck, rubbing the faint reminders of his weekend.  “But you’ve been getting a lot better, Tim.” They stay silent for a while, immersed in some soft atmosphere that shields both of them from the word outside. At this distance, the things Jason has put together about Tim are clearer and he catalogs it in his head for further references. The way his eyes are clear and icy blue, framed by short but curvy thick lashes . His eyes also have a delicate almond shape, no doubt an inheritance from his Asian part of the family. Tim also has a few freckles, disguised beneath the slight flush of his skin. There’s a dimple on the right side of his mouth and when Tim bites his bottom lip, Jason can see clearly that his teeth are slightly crooked and he crinkles his nose when smiling.

 

“Jason,” He whispers quietly, almost as if he’s afraid that his words will sound like shots ringing through the quiet night. “I’m about to do something incredibly stupid, so, if you want me to stop, now is the time.” Jason’s brain is short-circuiting right now, every red siren blaring loudly in his head as Tim closes his eyes and the distance between them, pressing their lips against each other. Every rational part of his brain shouts, telling Jason to pull away and _run_ , but little by little, those parts shut down, leaving him basking in the smell of Tim’s cologne and the feel of too soft lips against his. He feels his fingers slipping in to too soft hair when Tim bites his bottom lip, asking for entrance.

 

He feels the last siren shutting down when he _allows_ it by parting his lips and his tongue greets the curious exploration from Tim’s tongue. His brain registers that he tastes like cherry coke and vanilla, but he doesn’t go further on his evaluation of what he’s been eating, all his senses are tuned to how warm and soft Tim is in his mouth and how their free fingers are now entwined over the counter, the pen and Tim’s essay forgotten in favor of their kiss. In his mind, he never expected this, he never expected to be graced with such gentleness and devotion. Tim kisses as if it was his first, he concentrates on matching their rhythm, on exploring rather than giving in to a crazed lust.

 

Tim, Jason registers when he pulls away, is as sweet as his cherry coke breath.

 

The boy stays with his eyes closed for a while, his face flushed with the weight of what they did. He doesn’t take long to press their lips again in sweet chaste kisses that gradually turn heated—too much tongue, too much of those pearly teeth sinking into his bottom lip. There’s no time to think when Tim places his open palm against his chest, then curls his fingers around the cotton of the shirt. “Come upstairs.” He asks sweetly, out of breath and with eyes so shiny that Jason can’t do anything but to swallow a mix of their saliva and take a deep breath.

 

His answer is a mute nod that makes Tim jump from his seat and pull their linked hands, leading Jason through the maze that is the Drake household into the stairs. He doesn’t register what’s going on—the true weight of Tim’s request fly over his head when they pass the threshold of a messed bedroom and stand in the muted light from a nearby lamppost. Tim is the first to move, placing his hands against the bottom of Jason’s shirt and pulling it up; his reaction is to immediately place his own open palms over the blue jacket, brushing the pad of his fingers against the Brentwood insignia before sliding it down on skinny shoulders. Tim takes another deep breath and leans in for a kiss, his hands mapping Jason’s chest as the older man undoes each button of the white dress shirt until it follows the same path of the jacket.

 

The first things Jason sees when they pull apart are the galaxies of fading hickeys spread across Tim’s flushed chest all the way down to skinny hips and probably beyond the blue pants. A surge of jealousy fills him and Jason leans in, sucking a mark in the hollow of the younger boy’s throat as Tim grasps uselessly at his buckle. His brain does register the timid moan that leaves pinkish parted lips and how he pushes his pants and underwear in one go. “Jason.” He whispers, sweetly as always.

 

The older man places his hands over Tim’s hips, pushing down his pants and giving Tim and himself time to step out of their garments, along with the precious seconds where he can look at _his_ mark on Tim’s body, standing proud and glaring red at him. He shouldn’t feel as satisfied as he does when he looks at his mark—he shouldn’t even be there, with his cock twitching every time Tim bites his lip. Jason files the guilt and regret for when he’s not backing Tim against his bed, falling into it with him.

 

He hears Tim giggling when his hand brushes against a well-worn leather jacket laying inconspicuously between the heap of bedsheets. His brow raises, as if prompting an explanation from the blushing teenager. “I like your smell, Jason.” He offers simply, his long spidery fingers tangling on the mess of Jason’s curls, pushing their mouths a breath apart. “I like having it near me in my bed. Whenever I feel your scent I just…” Tim stops mid-sentence to bite Jason’s bottom lip, sliding it between his teeth. “I can’t count how many times I’ve touched myself when I smell your cologne and cigarettes. You can’t…” He follows the hard lines of Jason’s jaw with his mouth until he reaches his ear. “You can’t fathom how it turns me on, how I’ve got addicted to it. How many times I’ve dreamed about _this_.” One of Tim’s hands slides from the curls to runs across the expanse of his chest until those soft fingers are curling against his hardened cock. “About you in my bed.”

 

Jason moans, lowering his head to nuzzle against the fluttering pulse of a carotid, back to the red mark his teeth imprinted over white skin and down to the center of Tim’s chest. He moves slowly, capturing a pinkish nipple with his mouth, making Tim yelp. “Sensitive?” Is the first thing he is able to say, his voice sounding hoarse and foreign to his ears. Tim nods, curling his fingers over the black strands, but pushing Jason back to his chest. He moans openly when Jason bites down on one hardened nub and sucks it gently before rolling his tongue around it. And Tim keeps on moaning, pulling at his hair when he places several kisses across his chest to reach the other nub and give it the same treatment.

 

This close, he can feel the maddened thump of Tim’s heart under his lips as his hands rolls down, feeling the silky skin of his abdomen until he’s able to reach the bones of his hips under his thumbs. There’s also the faint sound of his breathing increasing, pouring into his ears while his little nails scrape against Jason’s nape. Jason lets go of the nipple with a kiss that preludes others, following the soft path of his stomach until Jason sits on his haunches to observe the boy underneath him illuminated by the faint halogen light of the streetlamp.

 

He lifts up on of the legs, tracing kisses slowly from Tim’s ankle, reveling on the soft hairs whispering against his mouth and the deceptively strong muscles that tense all the way from his calves to a milky thigh where he presses his teeth. There are other marks there—and by the way he sees it, whoever did that to Tim wanted to make sure that he would bear marks from his or her canines and bicuspids for weeks. The jealousy flames up in his belly again, prompting Jason to sink his teeth even further, leaving purple bruises on its wake. Tim, for his part, reaches out with sharp nails to carve angry lines against his nape, his moans escalating freely at each new bruise.

 

Only when Jason feels satisfied is when he stops, knowing that a primal part of him is what prompts his smile—the smile that makes Tim shiver and part even more his legs, hooking an ankle over Jason’s shoulders and running his fingers over the new set of bruises inside his pale thigh. “Yes…” He says when Jason pushes his fingers into the bruised muscle with enough force to leave a set of his prints there. Still holding to the supple flesh of Tim’s thighs, Jason bows down to place kisses over the boy’s abdomen, from hip to hip, then down to nuzzle on the well-groomed curls around his weeping cock. He slowly kisses the twitching shaft, all the way until he can wrap his lips around the cockhead and give a gentle suck that leaves Tim moaning loudly.

 

He reaches out with one hand, mouth still  busy with sucking Tim maddening slowly—Jason hopes to convey what he needs, and after a few seconds, he feels Tim shift in his hands, his cock slipping from his mouth as he twists his body to reach into the depths of his nightstand and come back with a half-full bottle of lube. Jason likes to think that it is because of his earlier words, because of him and not because anyone else might have taken away Tim’s virginity. Nevertheless he grabs the bottle, coating two of his fingers with the transparent liquid before going back to trace the vein on Tim’s cock until he’s able to place the head in his mouth, tonguing the slit gently until the boy moans again.

 

He slowly places his finger against Tim’s hole, rubbing it softly before pressing the digit up to the first knuckle. Jason feels Tim struggling to relax, his thigh gone tense in his hand as he moves his finger and mouth, carefully, as if this was Tim’s first ride. In doesn’t take much time before he’s pressing against his hand, asking for another one. Jason complies, scissoring them and looking for Tim’s prostate in between sucks. He knows when he’s found it when heavy drops of precum flood his mouth as he presses into the sensitive spot and Tim practically lifts his hips from the bed, making his cock slide all the way down Jason’s throat.

 

“Please Jason,” He moans as his labored breaths leave bitten lips and his pupils are so big that the icy blue of his eyes are nothing but thin crystal circles around the blackness. “Please, please.” Tim repeats reverently, his hips practically fucking themselves on Jason’s fingers. “Fuck me.” Finally he asks and Jason feels his cock throbbing just by the prospect of actually doing that. He does take a deep breath, listening to Tim whine while he pulls his fingers out and squeezes more lube into his palm to coat his cock—the fact that Tim is watching, licking his lips at the sight and raising his hips is more than enough to make him do a quick job and press the head of his cock against Tim’s hole.

 

Jason presses in slowly, feeling the muscle give out until he’s flush against Tim’s ass and they’re both sharing their breaths over parted mouths.

 

He moves leisurely when Tim moans his approval, pushing and pulling with all the care in the world as if Tim was made of glass. That makes the boy moan, one of his hands moving from Jason’s hair to grasp his bicep. “Jason…Faster please.” And Jason can do nothing but to comply with his request, taking his cock out until only the head remains and snapping his hips against Tim’s, drinking his moans as if they were the sweetest ambrosia.

 

Tim keeps on sinking his fingers into his arms, raising his hips once more to meet the thrusts and moans sweetly, so sweetly only for Jason. He lets out a litany of moans, mingled with Jason’s name. He keeps on pulling and pushing, feeling Tim melt under him until the angle his just right and his eyes are shot open, presenting to Jason and only Jason the blue of his eyes. “There!” Tim says between moans, his nails breaking the skin of Jason’s arm, and his otherwise free hand reaching out to pump his cock.

 

The only thing Jason focuses is to fuck into Tim’s prostate until he’s squirming in bed, moaning into his mouth so loudly he bets that even across Gotham people can hear it—and selfishly he wants them to hear, to know that Tim, in that moment, is his. It doesn’t take long for Tim to come, his name practically dripping from the younger boy’s mouth as his cocks shoots white lines all the way up his chest.

 

Is only then that Jason abandons all the pretenses and chases his own orgasm, the knowledge that he’s in bed, with _Tim_ , throwing him over the edge with a muted moan. He breathes harshly, trying to even out the rhythm while Tim looks for his mouth, kissing him softly as his body still shakes from the aftershocks of his own orgasm. When Jason starts to pull out, Tim sinks his finger over the already bruised skin, shaking his head in a negative. “Can you… Stay there…Just for a minute?”

 

Jason sighs, wrapping his arms around Tim and bringing him up to sit on his lap as they trade more soft kisses, tasting like cherry coke and cum. “I always imagined you’d be louder Jason.” Tim says with a smile, his hands running over the matted and sweat mop of hair on Jason’s head.

 

“Sorry, I’m not much vocal. But you…” Jason says with a smile, sinking his teeth over one unmarked side of Tim’s neck, leaving another set of bruises there.

 

“Stay.” Tim asks all of a sudden, his arms locked around Jason’s neck—and since the rational side of Jason’s brain is still shut down, he complies, laying Tim on his side and pulling out his now softened cock.

 

He has to swallow when Tim reaches out between his legs, catching a few drops of the cum slowly trickling down from his ass to swallow it. “Next time you’ll let me blow you.” _Next time_ , weighs heavily in his head—next time means a possible relationship, even if they’ll become just fuck buddies. _Next time_ , to the slowly awakening side of his brain, sounds like a death sentence. He doesn’t want to think about next time, or anything that isn’t how warm Tim is. Or how perfectly he fits with his head on his chest. Or the soft smile and the stars in his eyes when he looks up.

 

Jason waits until Tim’s breath is even and his curvy lashes are fanning against the pink cheekbones to cover them both and sleep. For the first time in months he feels like he’s able to rest—maybe he can blame it on the realization of his wet dream, but it’s most likely due Tim’s warm body curled into his bones.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up to an alarm blaring and Tim’s starry eyes looking up at him—there is still no trace of guilt when he leans down to kiss his lips, only a sense of completion while Tim stretches and invite him to the bathroom.

 

“We need to take small steps to save the environment,” He says in his sleepy voice, dragging Jason along to the shower. “Sharing a shower seems like a good idea.”

 

Except it isn’t, there isn’t much to save when Tim kneels and blows him, or when he gets lost rimming him until Tim is pounding the tiles. They end up late, running to grab the coffee from an expresso machine and cutting through Gotham’s heavy traffic—they know that Tim lost the first period when the Brentwood entrance is thankfully empty. “Thank you, Jason.” Tim leans in to kiss him, and he lets himself get enveloped in the sweet smell of his cologne. “I’ll call you when I get out okay?” He kisses Jason again, just because he’s already late and addicted to the taste of coffee in his mouth. “I…” Tim looks like he’s swallowing down the last of his cowardice. “I love you.”

 

Jason’s whole world comes to a staggering halt and he has to look deeply into those starred eyes. “I love youtoo, now go before you miss an entire day.” Tim kisses him once more and leaves, looking too light on his feet when he waves from the entrance. To Jason there’s nothing left but drive, the last words ringing in his head. He steps on the gas pedal, leaving Brentwood, Gotham U, the whole city behind until he reaches Mountain Drive. Rationally, he knows that there will be no one home to see his walk of shame—Dick must be busy at Wally’s, Damian is in school, Bruce must be working and Alfred is already in the city, stocking up for the weekend.

 

The only one who lazily welcomes him is Titus, the Great Dane bumping his head fondly on Jason’s knees when he walks in, and diligently follows him upstairs to his room. There’s no one but the gentle dog to see him shucking his clothes into the hamper.

 

There’s no one there to see the system of his brain rebooting at the first sign of Tim’s marks. He inspects with a mix of disgust and pleasure the crescent he’s left on his bicep, the nail marks over his back and neck. He doesn’t think twice before stepping into the shower, cranking the heat to the maximum and scrubbing his skin raw—as if it could remove the ghost of Tim’s hands from his body. He doesn’t fight the sudden urge to throw up when he leaves the shower—he even welcomes the bile burning on its way up, replacing the taste of cherry coke and coffee with stomach acids.

 

Jason dresses himself and his pajamas and takes a day off to wallow in desperation and sickness. He wants to claw his skin off, burn his throat every time he heaves in another wave of nausea. He wants to ask Alfred to stop worrying after he comes up with a plate of chicken soup that ends up in the toilet five minutes later.

 

He wants the world to know what kind of a sick bastard he is, he wants the world to hate him. _He deserves it_.

 

Jason is aware of how long he’s been moping when Bruce comes in, loosening his tie and taking a space beside him. He wants to tell Bruce everything, he wants his father figure to put him down like a dog, not to hold him as if he were a child in need of comfort. “Jason…” He starts, but Jason interrupts him with a heart-breaking sob, sinking his face into Bruce’s shoulder.

 

“Jason.” He tries once again, this time more firmly, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head. “Can you tell me what happened?” Jason states a negative with his head, the thought of what he did to Tim invading his head once more. “What do you want Jason? How can we make it better?” _We_ , Jason notices, because for once in his lifetime, Bruce seems to realize that alone they can’t accomplish a thing.

 

“Away.” He says simply, fighting the urge to throw up when Bruce rearranges them on bed, cradling him as if he was small again, crying over his mother’s death.

 

“We can talk to Talia, she would love to have you around.” Jason nods, for the lack of will to say or do anything other than to immerse himself on the feeling of acceptance that Bruce brings with him—even though in that moment he feels like he deserves nothing but scorn.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes Jason less than a week to recompose himself, a week where he swears to anyone willing to listen that it’s just a stomach flu, that he’s not dropping from Gotham U, that everything is fine. When actually he’s counting the days for his plane to leave. Talia is safe, Tibet is safe, is a world away from his problems.

 

He knocks on the Drake’s door without an ounce of confidence, only regrets piling up when he greets Mrs. Mac and takes a glimpse of the counter where he and Tim shared their first kiss. Mrs. Drake is home, albeit running around to slip on her shoe like midnight will come and turn her carriage into a pumpkin. “Jay!” She says softly, hugging him briefly before gesturing for him to help her with the necklace. “Bruce told me all about it! You’re so lucky! Please promise you’ll bring something nice when you come back!”

 

Jason nearly smiles—Janet Drake, for all her troubles as an absent mother pursuing the best of the best for her child, is one radiant person. He knows that she would kill for a taste of what he’ll having. “Promise, Mrs. Drake, although I don’t know when I’m coming back.”

 

“Shush, Jay! Take your time! I’ll be glade if you— _JACK_ , just send me a letter, a picture anything! Ah, if only we didn’t have this little monster called Drake Industries…” She sighs, leaving Jason’s hold to pull her husband by the sleeve. “Tim is upstairs, please don’t mind the mess in his room. I swear to gods we’ve tried everything.” Jason excuses himself, nodding a greeting to a tired Mr. Drake before gathering all of the courage he doesn’t possess to trace the steps back to the second floor. He knocks on the door, waiting for the teenager to emerge. Tim’s hair is tousled, as if he just got out of bed, one earbud hanging on his shoulder. The smile he gives Jason is enough to light up the whole Gotham and he feels sick down to his stomach.

 

When the door closes behind them, Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, and to the older male, it feels like weights pulling him underwater. The press of his lips go unanswered and it breaks Jason’s heart to see the stars leaving Tim’s eyes when he cranes his neck to one side. “What’s wrong, Jason? I don’t mind a little stomach flu.” He tries to joke, but Jason just places his hands on the bony hips, half of him still hopes that his bruises are still there.

 

“I’m leaving in eight hours to Tibet.” Tim mouth opens in a small O, his hands sinking deeper into Jason’s hair.  “I don’t know if I’m coming back, Tim.”

 

“Tell me this isn’t about us, Jason. Please Jason, tell me that you got some crazy internship. Tell me that Damian’s grandfather snapped and he needs someone to take care of him.”

 

“This is about us. This is about an adult having sex with a minor. This is about me not being able to control my urges around you.” He expects everything, selfishly, he expects Tim to shout and hit him, to fight, call him out for the coward that he is. He doesn’t expect the heavy weight of Tim’s head against his chest, or the slow rising of his back as he breathes slowly—resigned to Jason’s words.

 

“It was consensual.” Is what leave Tim’s lips first, followed by another intake of breath. “I don’t have much that is mine, Jason. Everything I own was bought by my parent’s money. The only thing that’s mine is my GPA, it’s little and stupid, but I risked it when I started the Spanish classes. I knew I’d suck and I knew you’d help me. I knew it was the only way to get closer to you.” Tim is tracing slow patterns on his hair, curling his finger around one of Jason’s black curls. “I know I love you and I know you love me too.”

 

Tim is biting his lips when he looks up and Jason doesn’t fight the urge to cradle his face in one of his hands. “Yeah, I’m just doing…”

 

“What’s best for us, yeah.You’re an adult, I’m a minor, I understand the situation. If someone finds out, I’ll be let out with a slap on the hand and you’ll be led in handcuffs to jail. Although I’d like you to stay and wait until—”

 

“I won’t be able to control myself.” Jason cuts in, pressing their lips in a chaste kiss, or what it seems, the ultimate proof that he’ll never have self-control as long as he’s near that boy. “I know myself enough to know that I’m weak and impatient.”

 

 Tim smiles at that, tugging them into the messy bed and laying down, his starry eyes mudded with tears that insisted on escaping. “It’s both a good and a bad thing to hear. I’m flattered that you love me so much that you’re doing that and I hate you for doing that. But if you feel like the distance is going to stop it, well.” Tim shrugs his shoulder, a resigned smile in his face. “Then so be it, Jason. I’ll look for you whenever the law allows it.”

 

Jason wants to say no, he wants to tell Tim that he shouldn’t stop his life on his account, he shouldn’t deprive himself from any other love interests just because of him, but the words are lost in his mouth. Truth to be told, he’s selfish, he wants Tim looking for him whenever he can—but he knows the distance and the time will slowly erase him from Tim’s mind, rewrite their crushes as some past mistake. “But for now, can you stay a while? Thirty minutes, it’s all I’ll ask for.”

 

He swallows down the sirens in his head, their eyes closing for a few seconds as Jason bumps their foreheads. “Yeah, I think I can manage it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Meet me at @beta-lactamase if you want to kick my ass.


End file.
